


They Never Let Poor Rudolph Join in Any Reindeer Games

by frostironfest



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Frostiron Fest 2014, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-07 07:50:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3167126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostironfest/pseuds/frostironfest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Agent Barton.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p> </p><p>“Would the phrase ‘Reindeer Games’ mean anything to you, perchance?”</p><p>(Frostiron Fest Gift Request #5)</p>
            </blockquote>





	They Never Let Poor Rudolph Join in Any Reindeer Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CelticHarmony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticHarmony/gifts).



“Agent Barton.”

 

“Yeah?”  


“Would the phrase ‘Reindeer Games’ mean anything to you, perchance?”

 

“Huh. Never knew Asgardians celebrated Christmas. Where would you even have – Woah, you okay sir? Something I said?”

 

||

 

Loki had to watch as everyone got their tattoos.

 

As Volstagg spoke animatedly of the neat calligraphy across his chest. As Fandral fluttered over the untidy scribblings on his wrist. As Sif and Thor blushed furiously upon their first meeting. As Hogun only laughed, a high, delighted and decidedly un-Hogun sound when asked about his tattoos.

 

They ranged from greetings, to expressions of shock, to random words smashed together one couldn’t possibly put into context until the exact moment of the meeting.

 

 _Of course_ , Loki thought bitterly, staring at the full expanse of his pale skin in the mirror, _of course the Norns deemed me unfit for a soulmate._

And Loki liked to think himself as pragmatic, so he never bothered to hope.

 

Even as he saw Thor, with his lover and the Warriors three, feel himself disappear into the shadows of the hallways as they walked passed him, laughter loud enough to blind.

Even as Loki felt himself grow painfully alone.

 

Even then, he never hoped.

 

He never curled into his sheets, crying as he fantasized of another’s embrace.

 

He was strong.

 

_Make your move, Reindeer Games_

 

So when the words appeared one morning, across the length of his arm, Loki suddenly became much fonder of the Asgardian long-sleeved wear.

 

But he would spend his nights tracing the scrawl with a finger, the careless scratching of an inky black pen tattooed onto his arm, as if the person’s hand couldn’t keep up with their thoughts, trying to write down as much as they could before they forgot. He would wonder what the words meant, would dream up scenarios, would attempt to decipher the message, going through the encyclopaedias and dictionaries of the royal library.

 

And he would sleep with the words burned onto the back of his eyelids.

 

Years passed.

 

Loki mutters an incantation, eyes red as he rubs at his tattoo. The words melt into his skin.

 

More years passed.

 

He doesn’t remove the spell.

 

Which is why when Tony Stark lands in front of him in full armour, and speaks, Loki’s eyes widen.

 

He scrambles backwards on the steps, eyes darting between the man in front of him and his arm.

 

His mouth falls open.

 

He forces it shut, looks away, steadies his breathing.

 

_The plan. Remember the plan._

He holds his hands out like a gift, an offering, biting down hard enough on his bottom lip that he tasted blood to stop the trembling of his arms, stop the words that threatened to overflow from his lips.

 

He will not speak.

 

Not when the pieces were just beginning to fall together.

 

||

 

He asks Barton the first quiet moment they have, in the lab, as Selvig busies himself in another corner.

 

“No, no, I merely heard someone reference it and was curious of it’s origins.”

 

Loki’s lips flatten into a line, eyes flickering between the covered arm and Barton.

 

“Could you satisfy my curiosity,” he says softly, “and elaborate?”

 

Barton arches an eyebrow, as questions burn beneath an electric blue gaze. Loki narrows his eyes, and the blue dulls, the questions fizzling away.

 

Barton purses his lips. “It’s a song. I could sing that part for you if you want.”

 

Loki nods, waving a careless hand for him to continue.

The archer leans against his table, humming.

_“Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer_

_Has a very shiny nose_

_And if you ever saw it_

_You would even say it glows._

_All of the other reindeers_

_Used to laugh and call him names_

_They never let poor Rudolph,”_ Barton holds up a finger,

“ _Join in any reindeer games.”_

Loki swallows, mouth suddenly dry.

 

“You’ve got some voice,” Selvig says, taking off his safety goggles and flashing the two of them a grin.

 

Barton waves a hand back in thanks. He turns his attention to Loki, who swiftly composes himself. “You still need me to sing you the rest or is that enough for you to make your own connections?”

 

Loki shakes his head. “That’s enough, thank you.”

 

||

 

Loki watches Tony swoop down, landing on a platform. The god stares unabashedly, lips curving, not quite reaching his eyes, and there is a moment when emerald locks onto brown. Tony swallows, and Loki follows the bobbing of his throat, the black in the god’s eyes melts out the green as his lids slide lower, a sudden surge of want coursing through his blood.

 

Tony looks away.

 

Loki wants.

 

His mouth parts, eyes hooded as he follows the engineer inside.

 

Loki _wants._

“Please tell me you’re going to appeal to my humanity,” he says breezily, feeling a strange sort of satisfaction as Tony’s eyes widen before he jerks his head away.

 

There is a quiet in the room, as Tony struggles to school his expression into one of apathy, as his eyes flicker to Loki before a pained expression crosses his features and he looks away, as Loki wonders if he shouldn’t have spoken at all, suddenly made it both of their burdens.

 

“Thought it was just my dick talking when I saw you,” Tony says, accompanied with a soft laughter that rang humourlessly, “but _you_ knew, didn’t you?”

 

Loki frowns.

 

“I had been… preoccupied with other concerns at the time.”

 

Tony barks a laugh, a harsh, startling sound. Loki instinctively takes a step towards him. Tony holds out a hand, stopping the god in his tracks, his face contorted painfully as he looks up, mouth twisted into a sad parody of a grin.

 

Loki’s legs move of their own accord, yearning to close the gap despite the shaking hand in between them. Tony visibly fights to keep his hand up, to keep the barrier between them, before dropping it with a groan.

 

“I shouldn’t have told you,” Loki says firmly, averting his eyes.

 

Tony snarls. “Why didn’t you try to tell me _sooner_?”

 

“It wouldn’t have helped.”

 

“Well you trying to destroy Manhatten and conquer the Earth with an alien army isn’t exactly ‘helping’ either.”

 

Loki taps his feet, impatient words tumbling out of his mouth, his voice quiet and rushed. “The first words you spoke to me, you gave me a _heiti_.”

 

“A _what?_ Utilise your goddamn AllSpeak,” Tony’s voice grows higher, mocking, and Loki suspects it’s a reference he shouldn’t bother to try to understand, “ _did you mean a nickname_?”

 

“Whichever. That’s not the point.” He coughs. “You made reference to a song?”

 

Tony raises an eyebrow. “How – Did you do your reading up or did one of your little puppets tell you?”

 

Loki ignores the question. “The reference, it was just physical?”

 

The engineer frowns at the floor. “Your helmet reminded me of Rudolph.” He raises his head, smirk twitching at his lips as his eyes begin to brighten. “Although I wouldn’t fault you for overthinking it. The similarities _are_ glaringly obvious. Poor Rudolph was always made fun of because he wasn’t the same as everyone else.” He leans against the bar. “You can relate, can’t you?”

 

A low growl rips from the god’s throat. “Remind me how _I’m_ the one who wasn’t helping.” He stares back at Tony, unflinching even as the engineer narrows his gaze.

 

“Yeah, ‘cos _you_ got a suggestion, don’t you?” Tony rolls his eyes.

 

Loki shrugs. “We could both pretend to have never spoken, and none will be the wiser.”

 

Tony looks mortally offended. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re telling me I wasted forty years thinking my soulmate had died before I’d even met them, that I was gonna have to spend the rest of my life alone, and now that I’ve finally found him, found _you_ , you fucking asshole, the first thing you wanna do is bail on me? No, no can do, Rock of Ages.”

 

“Whereas _I_ only spent oh, a couple more _centuries_ thinking the very same, though I’m sure you’ve had it harder, Stark.” Loki’s voice drips with venom, upper lip baring in a sneer. He knows this sort of blatant sarcasm was juvenile, childish, unnecessary, but not when he’s spent his entire life watching everyone else happily pair off, when he thought that there was no one out there waiting for him, that he was waiting for no one.

 

Tony’s eyebrows raise, shocked, and he seems unable to speak even as his lips part.

 

Loki twirls his sceptre and it disappears in a flash of green. “Informing you of our _destiny_ has resulted in a delightfully productive conversation, but I have some other business to attend to.” He jerks a chin at the havoc on the roofs of Manhatten, clearly visible through the wall-length windows of Stark Tower’s penthouse. “And so do you, it seems.”

 

The god is halfway across the room, taking sweeping steps, when Tony groans, a loud, obnoxious noise.

 

“Loki, just – wait.” His voice is low, words pushed through gritted teeth.

 

The god turns, an eyebrow arched.

 

“Wait wait wait wait.” Tony runs a hand through his hair, eyes wide and panicked, darting around the stone floors. “There has to be – There has to be some kind of law or something. Some soulmate law thing that can excuse or at least lessen the impact of this crazy shit you’re doing.” His voice breaks, and he looks up, at Loki’s mirrored wide eyes. “And I could – I could pull some strings. We’d just have to make sure you lie low for a couple years, you’ve got millenia left in you anyway right?” He chuckles, but the sound is forced, and it dies down before really beginning. Tony strolls up to where the god is standing, reaches to touch the helmet, trails his hand so it rests against Loki’s cheek. “So just, just stop right now. Stop now and I-I promise you, it won’t be too late, we can still _fix this_.”

 

Tony wraps his arms around the god, revelling in how Loki lets him, how he doesn’t fight back, instead softening in his touch. He feels Loki’s shoulders jerk, hears his soft breaths become spastic, and Tony holds him tighter.

 

“It’ll be okay,” Tony whispers, closing his eyes.

 

Loki stiffens, as if electrocuted, and he shakes his head, pushing weakly against Tony’s hold. “It will not be okay, Stark.”

 

Tony pulls back, hands cupping Loki’s face. “Yes, it will.”

 

Loki’s eyes soften.

 

“No.” His expression steels, and a hand wraps around Tony’s throat. Loki’s fingernails dig into flesh and he watches as the engineer claws at his hand, sputtering unintelligibly.

 

“Imagining what we could’ve been, Anthony, I’m truly sorry.”

 

 


End file.
